


death and his cold hands (i felt him afterwards, a warning, an omen, a reminder)

by makemelovely



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Character Study, Episode: s06e24 Death And All His Friends, F/M, Gun Violence, M/M, POV Multiple, aftermath of the shooting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 22:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16585418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makemelovely/pseuds/makemelovely
Summary: They aren't the same, afterwards. Maybe, just maybe, they did die in that hospital. Maybe they lost a piece of themselves that they'd never get back. Maybe they didn't really make it out unscathed.//or they all have scars, they just present themselves differently





	death and his cold hands (i felt him afterwards, a warning, an omen, a reminder)

Afterwards, they exist in the silence and think that maybe they shouldn't have an after.

 

* * *

 

Lexie’s hands won't stop shaking, and her eyes are a little too glossy with tears so her handwriting is shakier than usual. She freaks out on a woman who can't remember her prescription because she can't remember when she last slept and she can't remember what it was like before the gunshots and she can't forget what the gunshots sound like. The horrible sound of a bullet hitting flesh echoes around her mind like a bad joke, and she thinks maybe she wasn't meant to survive the shooting.

 

She freaks out on a woman who forgets her prescription, and she finds herself in the Psych Ward, drool on her pillow as she sleeps. She wakes up sometimes for a second or two, exhaustion hanging heavy on her skin as she stares at white walls and a plastic chair that looks uncomfortable. _Is this what sanity looks like?_ She finds herself thinking when her eyes begin to drift shut again.

 

She sleeps so much that she forgets to be scared of the darkness behind her eyelids.

 

* * *

 

When she gets out of the Psych Ward she practically buys concealer in bulk. It’s two shades lighter than it was before the shooting, but Lexie makes it a point not to notice it.

 

* * *

 

Cristina scrubs at Derek’s blood on her hands, skin scrubbed raw and red.

 

She feels the ghost of a gun pressed to her neck, and she scrubs harder.

 

* * *

 

April digs a black dress out of the back of her closet, and buttons it up with wobbly fingers. She brushes mascara over her eyelashes even though she never wears it, and she brushes her hair until it’s silky and soft. She stares at her reflection in the mirror as she adjusts the cross necklace she's wearing. Her eyes look heavy, red and still shiny with tears even though she’s been crying almost nonstop since the, uh, since Reed died.

 

She goes to Reed’s funeral, and clasps her hands tightly together in front of her. She stares at the coffin, and she hears Reed’s family drawing in stilting sobs like they don't want to cry but they are and they want to stop.

 

Jackson doesn't come.

 

* * *

 

April puts on the black dress, picking it up carefully from the floor where she had left it after Reed’s funeral. She buttons it up slowly, pale fingers working steadily as Reed’s coffin flashes in front of her eyes. She puts on mascara even though she doesn't usually wear it, and she only flinches once at the cold metal of the cross she’s wearing. It feels like the cold metal of a gun, glinting before it’s fired and a bullet wizzes through the air and finds a home inside Derek’s chest—no, she doesn't want to think about that. _Can't_ think about that.

 

She goes to Charles’s funeral, and doesn't think about him lying in someone’s lap and dying without ever telling Reed he loved her.

 

Jackson doesn't come.

 

* * *

 

Jackson puts on a black suit, and he straightens his tie mechanically in the bathroom mirror. The days pass in a blur of fear and paranoia and grief that he doesn't want to feel. He thinks about Derek on a table, and he thinks about saving Derek’s life. He thinks about Reed with a bullet in between her eyes as she lays in a pool of her own blood and Charles slowly losing color as his life slipped out onto the floor underneath him like a red curtain enclosing him, and how he didn't save them.

 

Jackson sits on the couch in his formal wear, staring at the clock ticking on the wall. An hour goes by, then two and three. His funeral started at ten o’clock. It’s two ten now.

 

Jackson takes his tie off.

 

* * *

 

Alex thinks sometimes about the salt-and-pepper color of Mark’s hair, and how the blonde of Lexie’s hair looked like Izzie’s.

 

Alex thinks about Izzie with no hair, and he thinks about her with a wig, and he thinks about the dreadful shade of blonde that Lexie dyed her hair because she’s always wanted to be someone else, just a little bit.

 

Alex understands. For awhile Alex wanted to be someone else, too. He kind of wants to be someone else now.

 

He wants to be a person who has never almost died in an elevator, bullet buried in his body as a little wheezing sound escapes his mouth.

 

He wants to be a person who doesn't still have a bullet inside of him.

 

The first time he sees the bullet under his skin—it’s a little bulge marring his flat abdomen—he flees to the toilet, bile rising in his throat as he heaves over the toilet.

 

He thinks of Reed, bullet in her head, and then he thinks of his own bullet lodged under his skin.

 

Mostly Alex thinks about blood, and how _red_ it is. He never really noticed until it was staining his shirt and seeping onto the floor beneath him.

 

(He absolutely does _not_ think about Mark’s hands, steady and warm on his skin. He doesn't want to think about what that means because he also can't stop thinking about Lexie and Mark and him. All of them together.)

 

* * *

 

Mark spends most of time looking after Lexie and Alex. He visits Lexie in the Psych Ward, smooths her hair from her face with a gentle touch, and leaves before Meredith shows up. He picks up Alex’s meds even though he is _perfectly able to get them myself, Mark_ and gets him water and buys groceries and lets him sleep in his bed because Meredith gets kind of weepy these days.

Mark doesn't mind sharing, though. He likes the warmth flowing between their bodies, likes that they’re sharing something.

 

(He doesn't mention that he misses Lexie, misses her beside them, cold skin keeping them from overheating. Alex doesn't mention her either, but he also doesn't visit her in the Psych Ward so maybe he just doesn't give a fuck.)

 

* * *

 

While Mark waits on people, Meredith waits for people.

 

* * *

 

She sits in an uncomfortable plastic chair beside Lexie’s bed, watches her younger sister drool and sleep and breathe. She watches her _breathe._ She smooths her hair away from her face, ignores the lingering warmth, and waits until she wakes up. Meredith wants to be there, wants to hold her and whisper comforting words if (when) the tears start to come.

 

She also spends a lot of time at Derek’s side, holding his hand and watching his monitor with close, careful eyes. She talks to him, shares secrets and fears and aspirations like they’re at a middle school sleepover.

 

She watches the people she loves, and she lets herself soak in the knowledge that they’re alive.

 

They’re _okay._

 

* * *

 

(They aren't, not really, but Meredith’s always been good with wishful thinking.)

 


End file.
